


Will There Be (Enough Water?) (Caleb Widogast)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, Anxiety, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Gen, Mention of blood, Original Character(s), Original Nonbinary Character - Freeform, PTSD, Physical Conflict, TRIGGER WARNINGS: slavery mention, Tabaxi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-11-02 09:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: caleb widogast enters your life, and by extension your child’s life, in the way he does everything: failing to be sneaky and pissing people off.





	Will There Be (Enough Water?) (Caleb Widogast)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Will There Be (Enough Water?) (Caleb Widogast)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695010) by [RockWithItWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting). 

summary: caleb widogast enters your life, and by extension your child’s life, in the way he does everything: failing to be sneaky and pissing people off.

word count: 4.2K

warnings: slavery mention, ptsd, anxiety, physical conflict, mention of blood

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find the version of this story featuring an original character here

In the last town you had picked up a child - rather they picked you up. A tabaxi kit, no older than thirteen years, had been kidnapped and sold into slavery. They called themselves Sweet of Fire, a clan name given to them before they were taken. You broke them free, killing their owners, and expected the child to head back to their clan. They did not.

“I don’t know where they’re at,” Sweet had said to you, with big eyes looking up at you. “And besides, you’ve saved me. Shouldn’t you be my clan now?” And, well, who were you to deny that? So Sweet became your child - they didn’t seem to know what boy or girl meant, or care, and you decided that you did not care either. They were useful for many things - tabaxi are stealthy by nature, never unarmed, and they hold more knowledge than you’ve ever seen in one being. Even Sweet who did not know about most things could tell you how gnoll society was run, and the way it has evolved in the years before their escape. But mostly… You came to care for Sweet. They became your child, one that you’d never think you would have had. You explained this to them, one night, and they didn’t know what a parent was. You explained the terms Mom and Dad, but again, they don’t really care for gender. They dubbed you Moda, or sometimes My Moda. It makes your heart swell.

So you protect them. You shelter them from the way your sword fells bandits at night, the way people glance your way as they perch on your bag when you pass through areas that are populated. You shelter them in a way that is redundant because they saw worse things in the Gnoll tunnels.

You find an inn in a small town, settling at a table in the back with Sweet before you attempt to rent a room. Some places are averse, to say the least, to tabaxi in their inns, and you want to make sure that you’ll get served hot food with no poison before you tell Sweet you’re going to stay for the night. They bounce off of your shoulder and into a chair, perched regally with wide eyes, slit pupils, and a tail that swished slowly in wide arcs. They’re nervous.

“Sweet,” You run your fingers over their head, their ears flattening and perking back up as your hand moves. They blink at you, slowly. “It is okay. If you do not want to sleep here tonight, we can find a place to camp out.” They cock their head at you, blinking again in the slow way they do when they’re putting their trust in you.

“I think that I should sleep in a place with walls.” They nod their head and shake your hand off, adjusting their shirt as their tail gives away their nerves once again. “I do not like it one bit, but I should do it so that I can not be afraid anymore!”

A warm smile makes its way onto your face and you nod, once. “Yes, you should always do things like this, but do not make yourself uncomfortable.” The door opens and the cool night air makes you shiver.

Very matter-of-factly Sweet nods. “You should invest in some fur. It’s very useful, especially in places where it is very bad and cold.”

“You think every place is bad and cold, Sweet.”

“I am right.”

You finally turn to see the newcomers to the inn. Something in you freezes and you lean forward to hide Sweet. They put their paws on your shoulder, settling their chin on top of their paws anyway. Children - who knew they could be so difficult? Your mother did, you suppose, but then why didn’t she warn you?

The group is a rag-tag one. At first glance* you think that they’re mostly human group, two tieflings and a smattering of humans but when you look again you’re wrong. There are two tieflings, yes, but what looks to be a half-orc, a goblin, and two the humans. Sweet’s claws dig into your shoulder* and you cry out, giving way to get out from underneath them. You jerk them off, turning to face their terrified expression.

“A gnoll!” They shriek in Undercommon. It was something they had picked up from the gnolls and that you had picked up from them. You grapple for them, wrapping them close to your chest before they can cause too much of a commotion.

“Sweet!*” You hush them swiftly. People are beginning to look and wonder* what is happening. “Sweet, darling, that is not a gnoll.” Undercommon is not a language that is particularly easy to speak, but it is everything that they knew until you. Maybe it will offer some comfort. “That is a goblin, not a gnoll. Even baby gnolls are bigger than that.”

Sweet looks at you, tears pooling in their eyes, matting the dark fur as they dripped. You wipe the tears away, watching as the fur under your hands lightens in color as it’s exposed away from their muzzle*. You love the pattern of their coat, love the way that as they get older it becomes more and more beautiful. “There we go, darling, calm down for me, Sweet of Fire.” You press a kiss to their forehead before tucking them into your jacket, concealing them from view. You look odd, yes, with a tabaxi shaped lump in your jacket but it’s better than anything else that could happen.

The group seems to have dissipated. The only ones left in the tavern room of the inn are one of the tieflings - a deep purple tiefling with baubles and shiny things tacked on everywhere that Sweet would surely go wild over - and one of the humans. You shift Sweet closer to your chest so you can swipe their daggers off of them. It’s surely uncomfortable laying on them, and everything is not looking good. The two from the group are watching you, but pretending like they are not.

It’s hard to pretend when you’re as covered in baubles as the purple one and as dirty as the human one. You want to tell them that, but you make your way to the bar. “Yes,” You lay your charm on thickly, “Ma’am, I would like to rent a room for the night.*” The elven woman behind the bar stumbles as you smile at her, flushing up to her neck.

“Oh, yes, we do have a room!” Her eyes glance to where you’re cradling your child, brows furrowing for a moment. “We have two rooms, as well, if you’re interested.”

“Oh, no need. This is my child, tired from a day of traveling, you know?” You cock your head and the woman flushes again. “They prefer a bedroll by the fire, dearest, so one bed is fine for lil’ ol’ me.” She reaches under the bar to find a book, flicking through it without looking. Her gaze is fixed upon you, flush still on her face.

“We have a room for five gold a night, darling, but I can lower the price if…” She makes no move or hides the way she looks at you, and you cringe internally. You’re holding your child and she’s offering…

“I’m sorry, but I will have to pass. Here is my gold for the night.” You pass over the gold and your arm is beginning to hurt from holding Sweet for this long, but they’ve stopped shaking and that is enough to keep you going. The woman passes the key to you and lets her hand linger, but you pay no mind. Sweet needs sleep, and honestly? So do you.

It’s not like you’ll get any sleep, no. You can hear someone following you* and you know it’s one of the group members from before. Undercommon is not always spoken in public, and the image of someone bundling a yowling tabaxi into their cloak certainly must arouse suspicion. You won’t sleep tonight, that was for sure.

You also weren’t lying to the woman when you said Sweet preferred their bedroll in front of the fire. Perhaps it was a more feline characteristic, or maybe it was just Sweet’s, but they could not sleep unless they were curled up in front of a fire. You settled them in, finally relieving yourself of the pack you had been carrying. You have several weapons: Sweet’s daggers, your longsword, a small hand bow that didn’t do much damage, and your own dagger that was strong, inlaid with gold and passed from your family. It isn’t much, but it will do. You know you should prepare better than pulling up a chair and settling with your back to the fire and front to the door, but that’s all you know to do. So you do. And you wait.

It’s around midnight when the door begins to open, slowly and softly. You’re ready, sword by your side and hand bow aimed where, if you are to fire, a goblin’s head would be or a humanoid’s groin would be. You have your bases covered.

But it’s not a goblin, because of course, it’s not - you really have to get better about assuming things about people because of what they look like - but the dusty human from the tavern room. He doesn’t look before he’s fully in the room which is, in your opinion, a mistake. You’re on your feet* before he has a chance to realize it and you cross the room silently. Your dagger is against his neck, your body pressing him against the wall and he makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat.

“Who are you?” You hiss.

The man struggles against you*, but* you jerk your knee against his thigh and he stills, breathing heavily against your blade. “I’ll ask you one more time, man, who are you and what are you doing in my room?” He looks like he wants to lie, and you want him to. Lying means a reason to kick his ass and to protect Sweet. Not lying means you might have to hear him out.

“I am Gokrin of Skywood, please, I was just looking for my room!”* There’s something there, under his smooth words.* It’s the lilting of an accent not spoken but not hidden very well. You press your dagger closer, taking care to not draw blood. “Unh-!”

“Tell me the truth, or I swear to the Gods I’ll gut you and hang you out to dry.”* The man gulps and nods, but you don’t relent. He struggles again* and you fight back* but neither of you gains any headway. Sweet stirs during the struggle but doesn’t wake up. You push with all of your might, some carnal desire to protect your family burning low in your gut* as you trap him against the door once more. You turn your dagger just a little bit, letting the blade bite his skin and draw a thin line of blood. A surface wound, really, nothing serious. “Tell me.”

“I am… I am Caleb Widogast, I am traveling with the Mighty Nine and I’ve…” His voice is different, his common is stilted with an accent that you can’t place. He takes a few seconds to gasp, try to jerk away from your dagger, “I have never seen a tabaxi before and I wanted to get a closer look at your friend.”

Rage billows in your stomach, blooming in your cheeks and making them ruddy with emotion. You feel so angry that tears begin to rise in your eyes. “They are not my friend,” You snarl, voice low and twisted with the dangerous emotion, “They are my child, and they are not an artifact to be studied in the dead of night. I should kill you where you stand, Cal-eb Wido-gast.” You separate his name, saying it slowly and communicating that you’re committing it to memory. “I should slit your throat and let you die.”

From behind you, a very small voice speaks: “What’re you doin’?” You spare a glance over your shoulder where Sweet is sitting up, rubbing their eyes. Hell, you hadn’t even heard them begin to wake up*. Dammit.

“Nothing, little one, go back to sleep.”

Sweet’s eyes finally fall on you, wide and green almost swallowed by black pupils in the low light of the room. It takes a moment to process what is happening, but then they scream, hackles raised, and head toward the corner furthest away from you. “Who is that?! Moda, what’s happening?” They sound so scared, shaken, and you want to kill Caleb Widogast tenfold more than before. Your child should never be scared, not in a room with walls like a cell. You snarl at Caleb before turning your head over your other shoulder so that you can see Sweet. “He’s not going to try and take me back, is he?”

Your resolve breaks and the tears that were pooling in your eyes begin to drip down your cheeks. “No, Sweet of Fire, I would never let anyone take you back.” You remove your dagger from Caleb’s neck to strike him* over the head with the handle. He jerks his head out of the way* at the last second and your handle strikes the wood. He breaks your grapple and twists out the door, slamming it behind him. You lean against the door for one moment, shocked, as you hear his footsteps move away with marginal speed but then you remember Sweet. They’re shaking and crying in the corner… You’re crying too. You jam the chair under the door handle, thankful for the way the wood gives way just a little bit and then you’re on Sweet.

They’re shaking, eyes wide with horror that you don’t know the name off. Of course, of course. You should have forced Caleb Widogast outside to have your discussion… Ugh! You don’t know how to be a parent, and yet something in your gut screams that you should have been better, should be better…

There is no calming Sweet. There never is when they’re like this, so instead, you lay them on the bed and begin to pack your things into the pack. Your body aches, but you have to leave the tavern. Caleb had said he was traveling with the Mighty Nine, and you may be able to take a squishy little human man covered in dirt, but those tieflings? That goblin? The half-orc? No, never. You’d die, and then Gods know what would happen to Sweet.

You bundle them in their cloak and then in your jacket, something, anything, to muffle the low, mournful sounds they were making. By the time you hit the tavern room of the inn, the elf woman is waiting for you. She looks pale and confused. “Are you okay?” She asks, wringing her hands. “I heard the screaming, what is wrong with your child?”

You’re shaking with anger and fear, so you say nothing and sweep into the night. You walk swiftly, and eventually, as you leave the light of the street torches Sweet begins to calm down. They seem to have panicked themselves into sleep and you’re thankful. It’s hard to decide where to bundle down, but you must. You find a place that’s set back into trees and bushes, clearly used before you. It will have to do.

Sweet has fur, but you only remove your jacket from the bundle they’re wrapped in. They were young, they needed to stay warm. You were not, and although you got colder easier than they did you were more resilient to sickness. You don’t sleep and, honestly, don’t feel tired even as the sun begins to climb on the horizon. It’s not that you feel awake, more like you’re too scared to sleep or to begin to think about sleep. You wonder if you’re cursed when you watch Caleb Widogast strut past where you’re sleeping, but then turn around and call out to his group.

“We have no time to dawdle, they have hours on us.”

Your heart freezes, as does the rest of you, and you do your best to push into the shadows*. The rising sun is making that hard. Your eyes track the rest of the group catching up to Caleb, the goblin awful close to eye level with you as you’re hiding. The goblin - you don’t know if goblins are like tabaxi or if they have genders, so you don’t immediately gender the little green thing - speaks. Their voice warbles naturally but is heavy with concern.

“Caleb, are you sure we should be going after them? That cat thing sounded awful last night.” Instinctually you bare your teeth, but thankfully it’s a silent reaction. The goblin reaches for Caleb’s hand. “Perhaps we should just move on.”

“For once I agree with Nott.” The other human in the group speaks, her voice low and raspy. She is dressed in tactical clothing, not much noticing the chill of the morning. “This seems like a pointless lead.”

The half-orc speaks next, with a slow drawl that makes your skin prickle and something tug in your gut. “Beau,” That is, assumedly, the human woman who spoke. “This is the only lead that we have. If it leads us to the Drow assembly, then we need to find those two.”

Your ears perk up, and you don’t think you move but perhaps you do. One of the tieflings lets their eyes roll toward the noise you made, not expecting to find anything… But, of course, they find you and Sweet*. She’s blue and less flashy than the purple tiefling that had cased you the night before. Her face lights up, and she tugs on the dirty jacket of Caleb Widogast. Her accent is even stranger than Caleb’s, or that half-orc’s, and the cadence sends your mind tumbling.

“Cay-leb! Look! I think that I have found the strange thingies you are looking for!” Caleb scowls, his beard covering most of his mouth.

“Jester, they are not thingies, they are peo- wait, what?”

But thank Gods you’ve been on the road for as long as you have. You’re already moving, sweeping Sweet into your arms, glad when they don’t wake. They will, you know this, but the longer they sleep the longer you can prevent another attack from seizing them. You make a break for it, leaving your pack behind so that you can make it faster and farther without capture.

Somehow, you know that because you’re carrying Sweet you will be caught*. You make it past the group, clutching Sweet desperately to your chest, but you’re apprehended almost immediately. The human woman, Beau*, slides in front of you, a staff ready in her hands. You skid to a stop, gasping for breath, and turn in a circle quickly. They’re surrounding you. There’s nothing you can do, nothing! You’re stuck, and the realization comes with a wretched sob from your throat and your body giving out. You collapse to your knees, bending to protect Sweet who is still asleep, thankfully, and cradled in your arms.

“Please do not hurt them.” Your voice is level, despite the way that you’re crying. “They are all I have, but if you must: take me. Do not send them back, I will gladly take their place.” It’s a lie, you know it and they know it, but somehow the truth. If you had to decide who the gnolls got as a slave, it would be you. It would never be Sweet of Fire again. Someone gently touches your shoulder. You flinch anyway, closing your eyes and awaiting the blow that surely would follow. Would it be to the base of your neck? Would it be to the back of your head?

A hand crawls around your neck and rubs in a soothing motion, but you can feel the talons they call fingernails on the hand. They could kill you at any moment, but they’re not. They’re… Not? Someone crouches in front of you, reaches out for you, but then pulls back just before they make contact with the bundle that is still Sweet.

“What is your name?”

It’s Caleb, his accent softening his words unlike the night before when they made them sharp and dangerous. Now, in the daylight, he looks skinnier and less dangerous. But how do you let your guard down when he tried to slip into your room in the middle of the night? When you’re surrounded by his friends - his half-orc, tiefling, goblin friends? They could all fell you in a second before you had time to reach for your- oh. Your weapons are with your pack and not with you.

You are helpless and that is not what you want to be. If you reason maybe… Maybe they’ll let you go. They’ll take what they want and they’ll leave. That’s how that works, right? You make your decision and you sag some more, shoulders swallowing around Sweet as if to protect them from your choice. You give Caleb your name, your real name, and hope he doesn’t ask about Sweet. If you can keep him focused on you, then everything would be okay.

Caleb repeats your name, testing it out in his accent. It’s different than how you pronounce it, but it’s your name none the same. You look up at him, just as Sweet begins to stir. “Who is this-?” But Sweet wakes up, their face turned toward Caleb, and they begin to panic. It’s so easy with them, their past, and you curse as they wriggle free.

One of their clawed paws tries to find purchase on you, and you cry out as your face is caught in the cross-fire, three scratches down your cheek immediately beginning to bleed. It seems that Caleb has the same treatment, and then all hell breaks loose.

The goblin, Nott, unleashes a crossbow bolt in your direction. You easily deflect it by spinning, kicking the bolt out of the air, but then you’re capturing Sweet in your arms again. They’re yowling, more cat than humanoid, and struggling away from you. “Sweet! Sweet of Fire and Brave of Heart, you are okay!” Your voice breaks, using their full name, and it seems to snap them out of their haze of panic. They settle in your arms, chest heaving. Their lower lip begins to wobble, as much as it can, and they grasp the front of your shirt in their paws.

“Moda, I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to do that again. Please, don’t let these people take me back.” Your heart breaks, and you can hear the group suck a breath in through their teeth at the sound of their broken voice. You sit up, taking Sweet with you and making sure they’re wrapped securely in your arms. From your knees in the dirt, blood dripping down your cheek, you level most of the group with the most dangerous, feral stare you can muster*.

“I will give you whatever you want of me. Information, food, blood, coin, weapons, body.” A few of them flinch when you say it so blatantly, “But I will not give you Sweet of Fire and Brave of Heart. They will remain unharmed, they will remain armed, and they are not to leave my sight unless I say so.” The group reaches a consensus without even looking at each other, before the half-orc steps forward, nodding.

“You have a deal.” His voice is deep and it drawls. He reaches a large hand out to you. “No harm will come to you or Sweet of Fire and Brave of Heart.” You are, as much as you hate to admit it, surprised in some way that he remembers Sweet’s full title. You press a kiss into Sweet’s forehead, surprised when they reach out for the half-orc’s hand before you’re able to.

“I trust you not to hurt my Moda,” They say and stumble from your arms. In a flash, they’ve dug their claws into the man’s palm and, with their other paw, into his forearm. He cries out, but nobody moves. “And if you do I’ll show you what I used to do when I was mean before they taught me my nanners.”

You’re crying again, but you still manage to choke out a correction. “Manners, darling.” They just snarl at the half-orc before retreating to lock onto your back much like your pack. The man, still bleeding, nods once and helps you to your feet.

“Let’s get you back to the tavern,” He decides for the group, “You can rest, wash up, eat. Then we will talk. You are no prisoner, here.” For emphasis, he adds your name. “No harm will come to you when you’re with the Might Nine.”

It’s not until you’re back at the tavern, washed and rinsing the soap from Sweet’s fur, that you realize there’s only six of them but they’re called… The Mighty Nine?

*1: rolled for perception: 9 +1

*2: rolled for constitution: 9 -1, needed to pass: 17

*3: rolled for constitution: 11 -1

*4: rolled for stealth: 4 +2, needed to pass: 5

*5: sweet fire is a tabaxi with the coat of a Siamese cat, and green eyes instead of the normal blue

*6: rolled for charisma: nat 20

*7: rolled for perception: 12 +0

*8: rolled for stealth: 10 +2, needed to pass: 6

*9: rolled for strength, caleb lv2: 1 +0

*10: rolled for strength: 8 +0

*11: rolled for deception, caleb lv2: 3 +3

*12: rolled for insight check: 10 +2

*13: rolled for intimidation: 10 +3, needed to pass: 10

*14: rolled for strength, caleb lv2: 9 +0

*15: rolled for strength: 9 +0

*16: rolled for strength: 18 +0

*17: rolled for stealth: 3 +5, needed to pass: 5

*18: rolled for strength: 2 +0

*19: caleb’s ac, lv2: 11

*20: rolled for stealth, disadvantage: 4 +2

*21: rolled for perception of group, advantage: 10

*22: speed is halved for carrying Sweet: 30 speed is now 15 speed

*23: speed for players (minus yasha) lv2: fjord(30), nott(30), jester(30), beau(40), caleb(30)

*24: rolled for intimidation: 17 +3


End file.
